


locked out of peace

by cre8iveovadose



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Cutting, Depressed Peter Parker, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Protective May Parker (Spider-Man), Self-Harm, Supportive May Parker (Spider-Man), Worried May Parker (Spider-Man)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28123800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cre8iveovadose/pseuds/cre8iveovadose
Summary: He was gonna stop. He was gonna get clean again. But the world is so loud and Peter Parker needs some peace and quiet.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 63





	locked out of peace

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to give Aunt May some love ... y'know, with angst. As usual, I’m ignoring Peter’s healing factor because it ruins all my fun.

_“The minute you do it, with fingers so blind_  
_You remove every bit of the blue from your mind.”_  
— The Mirror-Blue Night, Spring Awakening

* * *

Peter Parker knew everything. Well, not everything. He didn’t know how to make lasagne. He didn’t know why Mr Stark always wore sunglasses inside. And he didn’t know where to find the perfect picnic spot in Central Park. 

But he knew when Aunt May was grinding her teeth in her sleep. And he knew when his classmates’ deodorant started to wear off around fifth period. He knew the exact pattern in the grain of the wood on the bathroom door.

And it was fucking overwhelming. 

Since he’d gotten his powers, Peter had been able to notice everything around him. Every scent and sound and sight — Ned had dubbed it his “Spidey Sense” — made its way into his head. And it was driving him up the wall. 

Peter couldn’t shut his brain off to the endless stimuli around him. Unless he had a blade against his wrist. 

It wasn’t a good coping mechanism — he knew that, for sure. But pain seemed to shut down his other senses, seemed to block out the noise of the rest of the world, just long enough for him to regain his sense of self. Watching his blood drip out of him had become his own messed-up kind-of mindfulness. He could focus as long as was bleeding. 

But he had to stop. He couldn’t swing through the streets of Queens with his wrists all cut up. He couldn’t help out Mr Stark at the Avengers Compound if he had to wear long sleeves all the time. So he’d thrown out all his blades but one — he had to keep one, just in case.

And Peter thought he’d been handling it. He thought he’d been shutting out the scratching of his classmates’ pens and the rain sliding down the windows of the apartment and the scent of May’s new body wash. But it all pervaded his senses anyway until he was picking at his fingernails and chewing the inside of his cheeks and jogging his knees until his entire body shook. 

He’d made it through dinner. He’d made it through his homework. But he couldn’t sleep like this, with all this noise in his head. 

Peter could hear Aunt May on the phone, talking to her friend Janet on the west coast. They’d be up for hours catching up the way they did every three months or so. Even though he was supposed to be in bed, asleep, she wouldn’t notice if his lights stayed on a little longer while he cut. 

Clearing his desk, Peter gathered what he’d need. A non-stick dressing, a bandage, tissues. He shrugged out of his hoodie and passed his fingers over the scars marking his arm. He hated that the gesture made his heart skip a beat, at the idea of what was to come, but he pulled out his desk drawer and plucked the blade he’d taped to the underside all the same. 

The blade sliced through his skin without resistance. Peter caught his lower lip between his teeth and tried to keep his breathing steady as he slashed line after line into his arm. The pain was dizzying and the flow of his blood was transfixing.

And it was quiet. 

Laughter bubbled out of him as he realised just how silent it was. He couldn’t hear a damn thing but the breath in his lungs and the pulse in his ears. There was nothing to notice except what he was doing to himself. That was all he’d wanted for weeks and it had only been a cut away the entire time.

Peter kept going. 

Blood ran in long tracks over his arm, curling around his wrist to drip down onto the surface of his desk. He’d have a hell of a cleanup when he was done but whenever he looked over the array of cuts, they didn’t seem like enough. There was always an untouched patch of skin or a gap between the globs of red. Sometimes there was too little blood and others too much.

Peter was so absorbed in trying to attain the perfect balance his brain craved that he didn’t hear Aunt May end her phone conversation. Or go to the bathroom. Or knock on his door. 

Or open it. 

“Peter, why are you still—”

The blade fell between his fingers onto the desk and he spun on his heel to face May. His bloodied arm was still partially outstretched but there was no way to hide it. He could only watch her take in his best-kept secret.

“What’s going on?” May asked, panic edging into her voice. “You’re hurt but — we agreed, no going out as Spider-Man on school nights!”

“I-I didn’t—”

“Then why are you covered in blood?” May stepped into his room and peered over his shoulder, her eyes blowing wide as she saw the state of his desk. 

Glancing back, Peter reached for the razor where it had fallen but, for once, May was quicker. She ducked around him and snatched the blade up in the tissue it had settled on, carefully closing her fist around it. He stepped towards her, his uninjured arm outstretched, but May pushed back against his chest. 

“No, Peter,” she said, her gaze steady and her eyes wide with emotions Peter couldn’t pin down. 

“I’m not done,” he cried, “it doesn’t look right yet!”

“Just sit down while I get rid of this, okay? I’ll be back in thirty seconds.” 

Peter watched as May stepped backwards out of his room, his heart dropping with every footfall, as he sunk onto the edge of his bed. He glanced down at his arm, tears welling in his eyes, before he clamped his hand over the unfinished mess to feel the pain. More blood squelched out around his fingers, dripping down his arm to who knew where. It didn’t matter where the blood fell if he’d already been caught.

May returned, dragging over Peter’s desk chair to sit across from him. She grabbed the box of tissues, taking a few out, before she went to mop up some of the blood on his arm. 

Peter pulled his arm in against his stomach, not looking at his aunt. “Don’t.”

“You can do it if you want,” May said quietly. “But you’re ruining your favourite jeans.”

“I don’t care about my jeans.” 

“We need to stop the bleeding, Peter.” She shook the tissues she was still offering him. “Come on.” 

Under May’s scrutinising eyes, Peter took the tissues and cleared away as much of the blood as he could. It smeared over his skin, staining it ruddy, and made his whole arm feel sticky. His hands were red with it and he knew the sight would stay in his mind forever. He tossed the bloody tissues into the rubbish bin he kept under his desk before he reached for the bandage to wind around his arm. 

When he couldn’t get the gauzy material to stay in place, Peter met May’s gaze for a fleeting moment. “Help?” 

“Of course.” 

With deft fingers, May wrapped up his arm. She wound the bandage around and around, getting the tension just right to cause more pain while staunching the blood. Peter hoped the satisfaction didn’t show on his face.

“Do I need to take you to the ER?” May asked when she was done.

“No, I’ll be fine.” 

She glanced to the red puddle still congealing on his desk. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.” 

He shrugged one shoulder, fiddling with the edge of the bandage. “It’s normal.” 

“Normal?” Aunt May leaned back and shook her head. “Peter, you’ve gotta explain this to me. W-When did this start? How long have I missed this?” 

“It’s just — since I became Spider-Man. A couple months after. My powers, they—” He looked up at her, feeling tears drip down his cheeks. “The world’s so _loud_ , May. And I hear and feel and see _everything_ and I can’t stop it any other way.” 

May reached out to put a hand on his knee. “Whatever’s going on, Peter, we can find another solution. You can’t do this to yourself anymore.” 

“I tried to stop,” he sniffled. “I swear I tried. But I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do instead.” 

Peter doubled over as his tears finally broke their banks. He tangled his fingers in his hair and pulled as he cried while May leaned over him in an off-balance embrace. She rubbed circles into his back and pressed kisses into his hair. 

“We’re gonna figure this out, Peter,” May whispered. “You don’t have to go through this alone, okay?” 

Peter nodded against May’s shoulder before they pulled apart and he straightened up. He swiped a hand under his eyes but his hand was shaking. The sound and the smell and the sight of the world around him were creeping back into his senses. But when Aunt May took hold of his hand again, Peter knew he could hang on, even if peace and quiet were still out of his reach. 


End file.
